Exile: Arc

by Jack Lance

  Above, a train rocketed by on the railroad, over the party filled highways. A girl with tanned skin wearing a wide feathery costume ran up to him and kissed his cheek shouting something in a language he didn’t recognize. He ignored her and continued to trace Barron’s steps.

  The early starters of the carnival were mainly on the road, with only a couple of people on the path between himself and Barron. They themselves seemed to be people uninterested in the carnival, and simply trying to get to wherever they were going unmolested.

  The carnivals would be in full swing very soon, which would make it almost impossible to follow anyone at this distance.

  For now, Mitchell watched as Barron reached the end of the long street where one block met the next, and stood with his hands on his hips looking out over a roundabout there. Mitchell squinted to see what he would do next, seeing Barron turn and look in his direction.

  He dived behind one of the old supports for the highway as a train raced by above cutting out the street lights momentarily.

  Mitchell was sure he hadn’t been seen, and to confirm it he looked back, seeing Barron heading to the right and downhill.

  “What the hell?” he said and ran the length of the street to the road-blocked roundabout.

  Opposite the looming face of the buildings, the wide road downhill led to what was clearly signposted as the Geothermic Catacombs.

  Beneath town level were a complex network of old catacombs that, if followed deep enough would lead you to the lava of the giant volcano that housed the city domes.

  Mitchell could see Barron stepping his weight carefully down a steeper incline of the road, moving deeper into the catacombs. He had no idea where he could be going, since there was nothing down there but for the geothermic power generators, which provided the largest percentage of energy for the colony.

  Mitchell followed, but cautiously, hiding behind the ridge of the tunnel to allow Barron a little distance through the first of the damp catacombs, and seeing him disappear to the right he entered the place and followed.

  The catacombs were old, and grew more rich in stalagmites and rock pools as he followed Barron deeper down below town level. Eventually he entered a large cavern with a wide, shallow pool fed by a subterranean waterfall. Pipes were feeding the water to a network of others on the walls, taking away the excess for cooling purposes no doubt. The cavern was dark mostly, illuminated in three places by old, crooked lanterns at the cave roof. There was no sign of Chester Barron, and looking to each of the walls no other way out could be seen, but for a small hole in the wall so high that it would be impossible to reach.

  He looked around for a moment before stepping into the cave and walking toward the wide pool.

  It seemed that Barron was gone, and for a moment Mitchell thought that maybe, everything was going to be alright.

  Barron however, who had been hiding in a dark shadow behind an ancient stalactite ran out behind Mitchell with his arms hung like a beast and sliced the blade of a knife across a small region of his back.

  Mitchell was frozen, paralyzed from the neck down. He watched as Barron, who had stripped down to his underpants, walked around to face him.

  “Hypophine nerve. Just above the fourth vertebrae. Instant paralysis.” he smiled, with a vacant, empty look about him.

  “Bastard.” Mitchell mumbled. “You’ll kill us all!”

  Barron laughed silently to himself then said “You first.”

  He reached a huge hand to Mitchell’s neckline and sank his powerful fingers into the flesh of his shoulder. He screamed out a long hopeless cry as the blood dripped and squirted from him. Barron, giggling like a beast wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the top of Mitchell’s head, and with a large fraction of his strength, ripped his head away from his shoulders.

  He dropped the head and then kicked body to the cave floor, before holding his head back and roaring to the roof like an animal.

  With or without a carnival winding up in the town above, nobody would have heard the screams. Nobody ventured this deep but for the robots and the occasional group of kids, and even then the kids wouldn’t go this deep, so close to the molten core of the terrific Narcosian mountain. There were three other volcanic mountains of the same scale around the planet, separated by other lesser mounts and deep gorges, all encased in impenetrable ice and snow. It was indeed the perfect location for a prison colony within the empire.

  Chester Barron, having been covered in the blood of his murder victim, went to the underground fall, which he had conveniently lured Mitchell to. He stripped naked and stood beneath the flow as the water erased the evidence of his sin.

  Afterward he sat on the edge on a dry plate of rock, while the heat from the lava a few levels below dried his body.

  From here he redressed and walked back through the caves to the roundabout, which had now been completely overrun by tents and carnival trailers, backing up traffic along all highstreets and the spaghetti junction above.

  Barron walked back the way he had come, wading through the thick crowd toward the public elevators leading up to the parking lanes.

  Once there he ran across the concrete park toward the central lobby of Fincle Harvesting, seeing that a crowd had reached the hollow place and was now filling it with party and dance.

  He ran in through the glass front and through the lobby door. Just missing the elevator’s departure he ran up the stairs behind it, now a little giddy, excited by how well things had gone so far. It was only two levels up, where he needed to be, so reached it ahead of the elevator.

  He walked past the descending plate of glass and whoever was on it, and past the reception desk, who knew him well enough not to bother asking for ID. Barron walked through glass doors into a corporate lounge area, filled with rough faced, cigar smoking men and women.

  Barron snapped his fingers and gestured at the short, thin woman sitting beside one of their leaders, Josep Fincle. The woman looked at Josep and his twin brother Nash and then stood up and walked to Barron.

  She stood beside him as he said “Have you heard?”

  The gang, looking solemn and offended remained silent.

  “Meeting at eight beside the market wheel at South Syndicate village. The one day timer will be set tonight. I have my date, so be there or be squared.”

  “That’s Josep’s girl, fool.” Nash Fincle said.

  “She’s been mine as well for the past few months. Right, Byder?” he smiled warmly and kissed her cheek. “I did promise to get you all out of here. Party’s at Eight. Don’t get left behind!”

  After another angry silence he turned and laughed arrogantly as he walked out, with Byder Mauv at his side.

  She glanced around at Josep and the others, smirking slightly before following Barron out of the door.

  Outside, the carnival grew louder with song and dancing.

  At the South Syndicate village, at the edge of the east field beside a tunnel entrance in the wall, a U-shape of tents and tables had been constructed. They blew in the sweet gale that channeled down from the highways and biosphere. A large stone wheel lay on its side with a thicker grass and weeds growing up around its edge. It was meant as some kind of modern art statement, but actually looked quite hideous, and only served as something for the younger children to run around on.

  In the rest of the village, balloons and blimps had been raised from the fields as others that lived in the surrounding South Syndicate apartment districts came to enjoy the place, as invited. It would serve as added cover for their meeting, but none of these people were interested in such things anymore.

  “Darn.” Barton said taking the microphone on the stage before the huge crowd that had gathered. “Been locked up in this place so long, I’ve forgotten how to do this!”

  “Speech…” someone yelled followed by a chorus of “Speeech!”

  Modest street and house parties were beginning and could be heard on the air from the rest of the district.

  Barton coughed th
en tentatively said “In a few minutes from now, we will begin the one day countdown.”

  Cix Beldin gestured theatrically like a gameshow assistant to the holographic image on the steel table behind him. It showed an hour and minute readout, ready to be started.

  “It is so good to see everybody here in one place for the first time. Look to one another. It will be the first time some of you have ever seen one another. You are looking at heroes. You are looking at men and women who believe in a world beyond ice and blizzards. A good world of heart and soul… and I know some of you will have noticed the absence of Old Gang, but we have been assured by Chester that they have been told, and we have every faith in their determination to make this project work!”

  Barton noticed a young girl run across from the road, where she had run her automobile onto the embankment. He continued, as she stood at the side of the tents, gesturing at him.

  “We are leaving.” he said. “We will fly off into the depths of space and find a new world where we can be free. The days will turn to weeks, the weeks to months, and the months to years, and this place will fade to memory, and matter not. So for now we dance. Our final solstice!”

  He held his beer glass in the air and the crowd did also, crying out in chorus as the music began.

  Barton jumped down to the grass and held Cix by her arms, lowering her slowly beside him. He kissed her and they hugged cheek to cheek, smiling with hope for the future.

  Riley Sagar, one of the Sagar elders from East Syndicate took the microphone, and shouted over the music “Here’s to South Syndicate! I don’t know how they did it!”

  They all toasted Barton and Cix Beldin and their final party on Narcosia began.

  Bailey sat at one of a few arranged tables with the technicians, watching the festivities.

  The girl that had arrived half way though the speech moved across the dance area and took Barton away from Cix and the others.

  She leaned in so nobody else could hear and said “Something bad. It’s your pilot, Mitchell. He’s been killed, Barton. Robots found him murdered, down in Geothermic, in the north.”

  Barton hissed and said “Shit! What can we do? We need three pilots.”

  “They ripped his head off, Barton. Who would do that?” she said on the edge of tears.

  “I wonder.” Barton said with a mild sarcasm. “And we have the absence of Old Gang…”

  “Oh God!” she said, finally breaking down, and Cix having seen this walked over to them.

  “Go get Chester.” he patted her and she ran off toward Barron and his lady friend.

  “It’s Mitchell. Got himself killed.” Barton said to Cix.

  “Old Gang?” she said, then went on. “Do we really need them now? We have all the intel we need. We only used them for their ties to Border Sec.”

  “But if they tell Border Sec?” Barton eyed her with a shaky look.

  Cix shrugged and said “Then we’ll die.”

  “It’s all too much to fight. To the end, no matter what.” he said, and turned to Chester Barron as he approached.

  “Bad news, friend.” he said to Barron. “Mitchell is out. Murdered we think. Do we have any other pilots, no matter how inexperienced. Just for backup to the other two.”

  “There’s always me.” he said, and the others looked shocked. “I have a full atmospheric pilot’s license. I didn’t want to volunteer for pilot duty too early. Seemed like suicide to me.”

  “Well it might be.” Cix said. “But if we don’t have this covered then we’re all dead anyway.”

  “I’ll do it.” Barron smiled. “You know you can count on me.”

  Making a Mockery.

  As usual Thom Gubichayan was on his way to work the next morning. He followed his usual route via tram from the south to the robot maintenance factory in the east. He stopped off, as he always did at the neighbourhood adjacent to the factory outskirts, and skated the rest of the way via the central shopping mall.

  As always he took a route via the unisex perfume counter, stopping only briefly to apply one of the samples.

  Above he and the others present, including the gold robot cashiers, the lights dimmed and a scratchy siren honked out over the mall.

  “Perimeter compromised! Everyone remain where you are!” the equally scratchy voice boomed out over every public speaker throughout the old city. “Martial lockdown is in effect!”

  Thom smiled bitterly and shook his head. “Stiffed us again.” he hissed quietly.

  Thom and the others in his gang hadn’t been told of the escape, that was now in progress.

  “T minus five minutes!” the feminine computer voice cried over the engineering floor, and pilots now ready in the planes.

  “All set?” Rhia yelled up at the men in the cockpits, and each gave her a thumbs up, apart from Barron who simply ignored her.

  “Good, good.” she said to herself and ran over to Erik near the crane controls.

  “T minus four minutes.” the same voice of the communications computer spoke over the wristbands of those waiting in the hexagonal room.

  “Come on. Now.” Barton said to Bailey and the others, they began affixing their goggles and ceramic hot water bottles that they strapped around their chests, close to their hearts.

  They followed him onto the elevator, and Barton took them up to the tunnel through the rock. Barton and Bailey stood watching as the technicians and others who had already completed their tasks crawled into the narrow tunnel. They carefully worked their way along, through the open hatch on the other side and crawled around the rock tower, out of sight of the hangars. The harsh storms battered them with thick snow and sleet.

  Bailey and Barton waited as they each made their way.

  “Do you ever dream, Bailey?” Barton said, as if in a trance.

  “Dream?” Bailey looked at him.

  “I only ever have the same dream. In one place, a house in a field. It’s snowing, but not like this snow. It’s nicer somehow. I meet someone there each time. Someone I’ve never met anywhere else.” he said. “It’s strange, Bailey.”

  Bailey thought a moment then with a note of sarcasm said “Yup.”

  A voice on the wristband said “Robotic grid disabled. Good to go.”

  The last of them crawled into the tunnel and Barton said “Let’s hope those planes sever the connection soon, or the grid will reboot, and then we need to start shooting. Ok. Get into position. I’ve got your back.”

  Bailey crawled ahead, and they both emerged on the other side, and flinched as the wet snow from the blizzard slapped them in the face. It continued to pour from the fast scrolling clouds above. Seeing that Bailey had forgotten to fix the goggles Barton did it for him.

  They stood looking down at the still robots near the hangars, and the sentry beside the radar.

  Barton held up his wrist band and said “Family team, where are you?”

  “Family team?” Bailey asked.

  A voice crackled over the band “Almost there, keep some seats warm.”

  “Come on.” Barton said, starting down the sleet covered hill. “We don’t have a lot of time here. Get to the radar tower.”

  Bailey half walked and half slid down the slope as the others emerged from behind the rock. He walked past them to the radar tower, and around the frozen robot sentry.

  “Looks like it worked.” he said to Barton.

  “Professor Hickam will assist you.” Barton said, and a tall thin man with strawberry blonde hair pushing out of his hood walked up to them.

  “I don’t really need help but…” Bailey tried to raise his voice over the storm, but Barton had moved on.

  Holding his wristband to his mouth he shouted “Radio silence starting now. Coordination only!”

  Barton and Cix ran off along the way between the buildings with the others closely behind. They shot at each of the robots as they passed, shattering them into fragments in the snow. Bailey looked at the face of the sentry beside him, that they had seemingly forgotten
about.

  They ran to the far side, toward a rocky slope down to a lower ridge atop the huge cliff. From this ridge the weather rocket stood on its platform, with a single thin ladder leading up to a service point for the gathering module within. The rocket had already been programmed not to take samples of the storm, but to simply fly up into orbit for collection by the station. They would be able to hide within the air tight container for the whole voyage.

  The Beldins led everyone down a flight of icy stone steps cut into the rocky slope, steadied by the thick boots they were told to wear. Rhia NoVakahn had worn high heels however, which actually worked better at holding her in place.

  “This way!” Cix shouted over the blizzard.

  The storm was lessening its assault but the temperatures were still dangerously low.

  Crouching beside the radar, Bailey looked up at his new assistant and smiled as if annoyed.

  “Try not to get in my way.” Bailey said and turned to the control box below the spinning arm and ear.

  Don’t use the Cequodus default passwords. If you use them and this fails, they’ll change them.

  He opened the thin door and plugged in a specialized palm computer that expanded to a holographic keyboard and monitor when connected. The radar was overridden and above it stopped spinning and turned to face up at the sky. A few more commands involving a series of nice looking system overrides within the city itself, and he turned and smiled at his assistant

  Bailey held up his wristband and said “Solar defence grid down.”

  “Holy shit!” Barton crackled over the band. “Thanks.”

  He turned and smiled again at his assistant, who was now craning to see the holo display on his computer.

  “Those aren’t the solar defences.” he said with his nose turned high in the air. “Why did you tell them it was done?”

  At the planes, the engineers fed instructions to the cranes and on each a yellow industrial warning light began spinning. A rectangular hole that had been cut into the wall in front of the planes slid upward, and the cranes moved the planes forward until the nose of each hung out over the precipice beyond.